Patron of the Arts
by ittykat
Summary: AU: Puck is a Prince, Rachel is a commoner: "Kurt, I don't care if it's the King of England, I'm not to be disturbed."
1. Part 1

**Title**: Patron of the Arts

**Rating/Warnings**: PG-13 for language

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the characters.

**Characters**: Puck/Rachel, Kurt

**Word Count**: 2000

**Summary**: AU: Puck is a Royal, Rachel is a commoner. Inspired by the Royal Wedding, requested by both **cherry0506** and **callmeeskimo** within minutes of each other at the **puckrachel** drabble meme on LJ.

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><p>See, the thing is, he can pretty much have any girl he wants. He's instantly recognisable, it's one of the perks of being first-in-line to the throne, after all. Ever since his dad died when he was just a boy, he gets the big job when his Nanna dies. Even if by some <em>freak occurrence<em> some girl doesn't know who he is, he can charm the pants off anyone- an added consequence of all the diplomacy required by his position.

It helps he's damn hot, too.

But he's long been bored by the women who simply throw themselves in his way. He's not dumb. He knows they want to be the next Queen of King and Country. He knows that by marrying him they'd be fulfilling every childhood fairy princess fantasy they ever had. It's tedious now, and only very rarely are they talented enough in bed to make up for the very clear social-climbing he has to tolerate in order to actually have any fun.

"It's getting totally lame when they throw themselves at me. I'm bored! " He whines, after landing for yet another diplomatic visit to another country in their dominion.

"Well. Lady Quinn has always had a soft spot for you." his younger sister Sarah says to him, as they descend the stairs of their private jet. "And she's holding onto her hymen like ma holds onto grudges, so it'd at least be a challenge for you." They wave politely to the crowd gathered excitedly behind specially erected barriers and heavily armed police guards there to keep everybody safe and in their place. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he turns around to help her safely to the ground-they both know she's perfectly capable of ascending and descending stairs on her own, but the media (and their people) love the protective older-brother shtick he pulls on occasions like this, and it helps preserve Sarah's innocent little Princess image that she covets so badly, so they both play along.

"Pity she's a royal bitc-"

She smiles at him brightly and squeezes his hand to cut him off. There are foreign dignitaries approaching them now, and they pop their conversation on hold until later. "Mr President," Sarah says warmly. "Thank you so much for meeting us here in person!"

"How was your flight, ma'am?" The president says politely, taking his sister's hand daintily by the fingertips.

"Wonderful. A little long, though thankfully I had my brother to keep me company," She turns and smiles warmly up at Puck, and he laughs joyfully on cue.

"She's exaggerating how entertaining I am-" He grasps the President's hand with a cheeky grin, knowing the cameras are catching every minute of this informal exchange, "I slept for most of the flight."

"And I did not- I think I shall need more time tonight to rest before tomorrow's festivities... Noah, could you attend the gala tonight in my place? I will love you forever?" She blinks her eyes bashfully, and even has the nerve to stifle a yawn politely behind a dainty hand. He may be able to charm anyone he likes, but it is truly his sister who is the masterful manipulator. There is much that he could learn from her, because despite him knowing that she's only trying to buy more time for her own private _interlude_ with her male personal assistant (they both pretend he doesn't know about it of course) she has a captive audience with the President standing right here and all their various staff milling around close enough to hear most of the conversation that passes- reputations are built on rumours which are always most resilient when based on snippets of truth.

"Sure." He says, and gives her a playful tug on the ear that is perhaps a little more aggressive than it looks (misdirection is key- their smiles never waver an inch) He turns to the president and smiles. "You don't mind my company for the evening instead, sir?"

"Not at all. I believe you're the musician in the family anyway."

"Well, I figure if I'm the patron of the arts, I should at least know a little about it myself." Noah concedes, and they all are guided off together towards their awaiting armoured vehicles.

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><p>He is ushered from one monkey-suit into another for the gala- a celebration of the great and varied fabric of musical theatre of both their countries and of course a chance to milk the very rich and very famous of all their money. He is sure to send Sarah a particularly nasty text message before he leaves their hotel for the theatre, which basically boiled down to (while peppered with several more <em>creative<em> vocabulary choices): _You owe me, sis."_

Her reply buzzes in his pocket as he settles into the limo: _Maybe you'll find yourself a challenge there. Foreign girls are a different beast._

Not for the first time, he wonders how she is so extremely good at hiding the filthy dirty bitch she is from the general public when he's carried the label of 'playboy' since he was in grammar school.

The gala itself is basically the same as every other benefit concert and charity gig he's been to in about 5 years. A stout black girl takes the stage and belts out a spiritual show-stopper that is so powerful he can see the velvet curtains of his box seat vibrating a little. She's followed by a young baby-faced young man singing a song that is traditionally a female part (to keep things interesting, and _modern_ of course) though it's quite surprising that he can sing it all in the female register and after them it's a medley of classic rock songs sung by the national winners of a school glee-club competition.

It's the performer who comes out just before interval that catches his attention though. She's in a classy black dress that finishes just above her mid-thigh, with her dark brown hair pulled back in a cascading ponytail, she grips her sparkly microphone and brings the audience to a stunned silence when she sings a raw, stripped back version of _Pure Imagination_, with nothing but a simple piano glissando to accompany her. Noah is glad for the privacy of the special box that he has to himself- The President and his family are in the one beside his, so he has every opportunity to stare unabashedly.

"Who was that?" He asks his page, when the curtains close, and the house lights return.

"Rachel Berry, Your Highness." the page says politely.

"I'd love to meet her."

The page bows subserviently, "I'll arrange to have her brought to your box, sir."

"No- no need. I'll visit her backstage, there is time before the next act." He stands and smooths the lines of his dinner jacket with his palms.

"Of course, sir. If you'll follow me."

They take the service entrances in order to stay away from the gathering crowds, and the moment they enter the backstage area, the hustle and bustle of the cast and crew preparing for the next act does not pause to stop and stare, affording him one of his rare moments of anonymity. Or at least, he is ignored until someone glances at him and recognises the familiar set of his jaw.

"Your Highness..." The small baby-faced male soprano from before stops to stare, then falls into a deep bow. "What an honour!"

"I hope I'm not intruding, I came to share my congratulations on a wonderful first act with you all-" He says, eyes roving the dark, albeit crowded hallways for a glimpse of the small black dress or the woman wearing it. "It's Mr Hummell, if I recall correctly?"

"You do, your grace!" The man blushes, and bows a little deeper.

"Mr Hummell, I'd love to meet Rachel Berry, her performance blew me away, and I'd love the chance to compliment her in person."

"Of course, your excellency, if you'll follow me right this way!" Hummell leads them down a side hall and around a corner til they reach a door with a huge gold star labelled 'Rachel Berry' plastered in the middle.

"Rachel," Hummell calls through the door, rapping his knuckles smartly against the door.

"Kurt, go away," a female voice snaps through the door. "We've been through this, don't disturb me while I'm preparing for a performance."

Kurt glances side-ways at him and Noah can see the blush rising up his neck. "You have a visitor, Rachel."

"Kurt, I don't care if it's the King of England, I'm not to be disturbed."

Kurt hesitates. "It's not the _King_, exactly..."

"Kurt, your practical jokes just aren't as funny as you believe them to be." There are footsteps loud and angry behind the door before it is wrenched open. "Prince Noah does not want to visit me persona-"

She stops mid sentence when she sees him standing there next to Kurt. She's changed into a white satin robe, her hair is down, and her face has been messily washed of its stage makeup. She seems to realise all this at once, makes an odd squeaky noise, then slams the door in both their faces.

"I get that reaction a lot," He says to Kurt with a bit of a smirk. "It's no fun when you tell them you're coming."

"She's not the best with surprises," Kurt says with a shrug.

"I can hear you both, you know," her voice squeaks from the other side of the door. "And I don't appreciate being talked about behind my back."

"Well I'd love to talk to you in person if you open the door again," Noah says with a laugh. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

The door swings open. Her bare cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but she does look a little ticked off. He think he likes that look on her. "And _I_ don't fall for that ridiculous pick-up line when people give it to me at a bar, I'm certainly not going to lower myself to humour it simply because you're a _prince_."

"Well I'll have to try a little harder then, won't I?"

Rachel crosses her arms across her chest and scowls, "Why are you here?" She says, he sees Kurt's mouth drop open in shock out of the corner of his eye.

"Rachel, he's a _Prince_," Kurt says reverently.

"Yes, and apparently quite a rude one." She lifts her wrist up to her eye-level and inspects a delicate silver watch for the time. "I only have fifteen minutes til my next call. I won't delay my performance for anyone, not even a Prince."

"I just wanted to tell you how wonderful I thought your performance was. And to wish you all the best for the second act." He says. "And I'd love if you and your friend Kurt would join my sister and I at a luncheon we're having tomorrow."

"Yes. We'll come." Kurt cuts in excitedly, stepping between the two of them with a brilliant smile. "And I'm sure when Rachel has calmed down she'll thank you for the compliment, and she'd say something about enjoying the rest of the show.

"You don't speak for me, Kurt." she says hatefully.

"I do right now. Shut up, diva."

Noah can't help but laugh a little. They really are both the epitome of melodramatic theatre nuts, but he stuffs his hands in his pockets and says with a nod: "Nice meeting you both. I'll have someone contact you tomorrow with the details."

With that, he turns and heads back the way he was lead, pulling his phone from his pocket as he ducks back out into the service hallway where the page had been waiting dutifully for his return. _You would've hated it. But thanks for manipulating me into this._ he sends to his sister when he arrives back in his box.

_Sister knows best. So what's the special girl's name, then?_

_Rachel Berry. You'll meet her tomorrow._

_You are kidding me, right? You're gonna woo the biggest name in theatre right now?_

_I like a challenge._

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><p><em>please review!<em>


	2. Part 2

**quick author's note: **I honestly intended the first part to be an open-ended one-shot (I am a fan of those) but reception to it was so good, and I am attempting to do a drabble a day for the month of November. I had part of this already written so I finished it off to post. I may continue it (absolutely no guarantees) but if I do, they will be less linear and much more drably in nature.

also: I've very intentionally not made the Puckerman's the royal family of any particular country, mostly so that I can play with peerage, rank and tradition in my own ways without feeling like I need to restrict myself to what I've researched. That being said, if, like some of you, you're imagining him with a British accent and find that super attractive, I'm not gonna get in your way. Imagine away! Who'm I to stop you?

**Chapter 2. The Luncheon.**

The morning after the gala, he wakes up early- earlier than he would've liked, given the long day of travel and late night the night before. He couldn't even blame his early rise on jet-lag, the time difference wasn't that great between this country and his. No, he awakes to the shrill techno beats of a begrudgingly familiar tune trilling out of his cell phone resting on his bedside table.

He flails an arm out to snatch up the offending phone, pressing the answer button blindly with his thumb, and only reluctantly removing his face from being pressed into his particularly soft pillow.

"Sarah, what did I tell you about changing the ring tones on my phone?"

"Serves you right for napping on the plane yesterday when you could've been talking to me."

"I _hate_ Lady Gaga."

"At least I know you'll answer when I call."

He lets out a frustrated grunt and buries his face back in his pillow, hoping that the grunt accurately conveys all his frustration at being interrupted so early, when she of all people knew exactly how tired he'd be. He had taken her spot at the gala last night, and while sure, he'd enjoyed himself more than he'd planned to, it still took its toll.

Sarah seemed to sense that the likelihood of him participating in the rest of this conversation was low, because she didn't wait for him to decide whether he wanted to form any more words at whatever ungodly hour it was at present, and charged on forward with her side of the conversation.

"So Schue told me all about your antics last night, breaking protocol and going back stage to meet Rachel Berry without an escort. What was she like in person? She always looks super short in all her photos, but then from what I can see those entertainment types are either giants or tiny and never anywhere in between like normal people."

"What the hell do you know about inormal/i people, Sarah? You haven't met anyone who wasn't vetted in your entire life." He grumbles into the phone.

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"What time is it?"

"You have half an hour before I'm sending Finn in with your breakfast, so you'd better shower and make yourself presentable."

"I don't have to be presentable for Finn..."

"And then you and I are visiting the war memorial, so don't wear that green tie again."

This always happens- they get away from the shadow of their grandmother and she decides its her duty to keep him in line. She never just wants to _live_ a little. She's too concerned about how it'll _look_ or whether it could be interpreted badly. "God, you're worse than Nanna about these things, you know."

"Don't exaggerate just because you're tired and cranky. We both know she's much worse than I am."

He pushes the pillow away from his face and flips over onto his back. He's awake now, he might as well get up and start his day. From memory he knows it's another long and tedious one ahead, and as relaxing as it may look on paper 'visit to the war memorial' 'charity luncheon for veterans', 'meeting with the ambassador', he knows it won't actually be like that. Especially not on four hours sleep. "I'm tired and cranky because you made me take your spot last night because you wanted yours and then woke me up at the crack of dawn today to gossip."

"Only because you always give me something to gossip about." She says snappily. "Half an hour. Or I'll leak a rumour about your secret love for ridiculous children's cartoons."

Noah laughs, "Like that would really damage my rep at all." he slips the covers off and slides out of bed. "If you really want me to shower and shave and not wear the green tie, you need to get off the phone, princess." He says, stretching as he wanders towards the bathroom attached to his suite. "And you'll make sure Finn brings the extra strength coffee with him."

"Fine. I'll meet you in the foyer at 9." She says, and hangs up on him without another word.

… … …

The air in Kurt's sedan is tense, and the silence has even reduced the tinny pop song emanating from the radio to unimportant background noise. Every now and then Rachel sends a poisonous glance in Kurt's direction.

"You do realise that what you're doing to me be borders on kidnapping?" Rachel says to her companion, arms crossed across her chest defensively.

"And do _you_ realise that you're only saying that because you're still embarrassed about yesterday and don't want to be reminded about the deplorable way you acted?" Kurt counters, shooting her the barest of glances before turning his eyes back to the road. "You received a personal invitation from iroyalty/i, Rachel. You don't turn that sort of attention down. Tomorrow there will be a photo of you and I with a caption saying 'Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummell, personal guests of heir apparent Prince Noah and his sister the so cute she's basically the Princess 'Disney-hasn't-used-in-a-movie-because-they-don't-want-to-get-sued' Sarah."

"I resent being dictated to with the expectation that I will blindly follow orders based purely on an outdated patriarchal system that only further entrenches traditional class divisions and keeps the rich rich and the poor poor!" She says all this so quickly that her face turns an alarming shade of pink.

"For god's sake, Rachel." Kurt says, indicating and turning into the drop-off for the high-class hotel the luncheon has been organised at. There is a micro traffic jam up ahead, as the valet team let arriving guests out of their expensive cars before driving them off to the hotel's secure car park. "Calm down."

"He's not even our Prince, Kurt. Why do we just bend to his every whim like that?"

"Because he's a hunk, he likes you and he's super rich, Rachel. The only reason you resent him in particular is because of the title he has in front of his name. And because he caught you off guard yesterday."

"That's not true. I resent him because he's a free-loader."

"Rachel. The way I see this, you've got two choices. One. You can be determined to have a bad time, stay grumpy and make this a bad experience for yourself. Or, two: You can eat the delicious free food, drink the amazing free alcohol, network with a group of people who're notoriously discerning and influential, one of which invited you here personally."

Kurt nudges the car forward until they reach the entrance, then pulls the hand break on with one violent tug. "I know which option I'm choosing, and I'd appreciate it if you would let me know your choice right this minute, because if you choose number one you can take that valet stub and be the designated driver on the way home. I want to be able to drink if you are determined to be bitchy all afternoon."

They glare at each other for a moment, before the valet opens Rachel's door. They both exit the car. Rachel waits by the curb for Kurt to join her, hands stubbornly in the pocket of her coat. The valet turns to Kurt and holds out the small plastic token for him to take. "Your choice, Rachel." He says, holding her gaze steadily.

After a moment, she averts her gaze and mutters darkly. "I want to drink."

Kurt takes the token.

… … …

After two and a half glasses of very expensive champagne, Rachel is willing to admit that she may have been exaggerating exactly how torturous she'd anticipated this particular event to be. The food is delicious and there were several interesting vegan options for her to pick from, which she hadn't expected. The other guests were all polite, well educated and while they all wore their wealth on their sleeves, they all seemed genuinely invested in the success of the charity this particular luncheon was supporting, unlike most of the other "charity" events that she found herself at. The worst she could really say about the crowd was that it was a bit on the older side, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, iper se/i.

Kurt drifted away from her earlier, right about the time she'd finished her second flute of bubbly, tittering something about a college mentor he hadn't seen in years, leaving her to make small talk with an elder gentleman who, while pleasant in a jovial way, smells rather overwhelmingly of sauerkraut. One of his front teeth is quite a bit more yellow than the rest. She is doing her best not to breathe in too deeply through her nose.

A hand touches her gently on her waist and the voice from yesterday says quietly in her ear. "I didn't think you'd come, given the way you received my invite yesterday."

"Your Highness." Mr Sauerkraut says with a brilliant smile and a stiff, practiced bow. Rachel turns around to face him as well. At least today she has more than a skimpy satin robe on, and makeup.

"Your Highness," Rachel parrots, and wonders if she is supposed to curtsy. He still has his hand on her waist, which would make the gesture quite a bit more awkward than it would already be.

He steps back a little, and smiles at the two of them. "Good afternoon, Mr Ballast, Miss Berry. I hope you're both enjoying yourselves?"

"Yes sir!" Mr Ballast says pompously, grinning wide so that his discoloured teeth are on full display. Rachel forces a polite smile and nods, but throws a surreptitious glance down at the sadly full champagne glass in her hand. If it were empty it'd give her an chance to excuse herself.

To her surprise, however, she is given another way out, of sorts. "Mr Ballast," The Prince says, "You don't mind if I borrow Miss Berry here for a moment?"

"Not at all, sir."

"Thank you." He says and nods ever so slightly at the man before turning around, hand at the small of her back and gently pushing her in the opposite direction of the ebullient man. He leans down a little and says quietly into her ear: "You looked like you needed rescuing."

Rachel raises a skeptical eyebrow as they come to a halt in a more private corner of the room. "And I suppose you have a lot of practice, playing the handsome prince rescuing the damsel in distress."

"You think I'm handsome?" He smirks, and her belly full of champagne has loosened her nerves enough for her to scoff rather rudely. After a few glasses of alcohol he's just like any other opportunistic man, complete with corny pick-up lines and a smarmy leer.

"Does that line _actually_ work on women?" She says, glad that Kurt is not nearby to hear her call this man out. He'd be scandalised, but Rachel does not particularly care about protecting this man's feelings when he clearly has an inflated sense of self. "Have you coasted through life that easily?"

He laughs, and she's surprised at how genuine it sounds. She hadn't picked him to be self-effacing. "Note to self, no more corny pick-up lines."

"Why did you invite me here?" She asks bluntly, placing her champagne flute down on a nearby table.

"Because I enjoyed your performance last night and wanted to let you know." He says. "Why did you come?"

"Because Kurt made me." She answers, figuring that honesty is the best policy. "He said it was a great career opportunity for me."

"That's true." He nods. "You'll definitely get exposure from this, and that's always good in your business, right?"

She eyes him for another moment or two, and then with liquid courage fuelling her ire, she says: "And I suppose you expect that I will give myself over to you in gratitude for the gracious honour you've bestowed upon me."

He smiles a little, and shakes his head. "I just want to get to know you." He says honestly. "You can believe it or not, but I'm not the sort of guy who pursues a woman against her will. I really was impressed last night, and I do want you to meet my sister, but if you want me to leave you alone, just say so and I'll go, and you can stay as long as you like, eat our food, drink our alcohol, and hopefully you'll have a story to tell your grandkids."

Rachel purses her lips in a little pout. "I'm sorry I've been so rude." She says.

"You're excused." He says magnanimously, tilting his head in deference. "Now let's find my sister."


End file.
